Strange Fascination
by magique
Summary: Angela Anaconda: Some things never change. Others really, really do. Angela/Nanette -- set during high school


**Title**: Strange Fascination  
by _magique_  
**Fandom(s)**: Angela Anaconda  
**Pairing(s)**: Angela/Nanette  
**Genre/****Rating**: General, future!fic/M  
**Word Count**: 732  
**Summary**: Some things never change. Others really, really do.  
**Warnings/Spoilers**: Bit of coarse language. Um, sorry about your childhood?  
**Notes**: I wrote a sort of rough version of this on impulse for a writer's meme and liked it, so I've just fixed it up a bit. And, yeah, I feel like maybe I should feel guilty or weird about this, but somehow I just...don't. I have aged the girls up though.  
Title stolen from, appropriately, _Changes_ by David Bowie.

* * *

Everyone sort of assumed they'd stop hating each other eventually, like it'd been a stupid phase or something. That maybe they'd get to high school and think that, God, hadn't they just been such silly kids. That, even if they were never going to be friends, they might have ended up passing each other in the halls without a glance.

But, hey, they _are_ in high school now and guess what? Angela still hates Nanette. Angela probably hates Nanette _more_. And Nanette déteste vraiment's Angela, or whatever the hell the French is for that. Because even if Nanette can't get away with saying that _oui, oui_ means _get out of the way, loser_ anymore and doesn't need to, she's still an enormous bitch. And Angela might not violate English syntax quite the way she used to, but she's pretty firmly still a bit of a weirdo who gets lost in daydreams too often.

So, yeah, they still clash. They aren't friends and they can't seem to pass each other without hurling an insult along the way. They just do it differently now. The insults are cleverer, better designed to hurt, and the fights can get brutal—and, hey, where did prissy little Nanette learn to hold her own against a girl with two older brothers?

Gina Lash moved into the Stop Fighting and Get Over It camp back when they started high school (and she took Johnny Abatti and Gordie Rhinehart with her, dirty player that she is), and she tends to spend at least half of their lunch breaks trying to scare Angela away from it.

She can't get Gina to stop, because offering her a few snacks or even free lunch for a week isn't enough to distract her anymore. But Angela is getting _so sick_ of Gina's cries of UST. 'Sexual tension' and 'Nanette' _really_ shouldn't ever be in the same sentence (let alone paragraph!), especially since Angela's pretty sure she doesn't _need_ Gina saying anything to be scared that something's going on behind all the nastiness. Not with the direction her imagination's been dragging her where Nanette's concerned for longer than Angela can remember, and that's just _dirtysickwrong_ and when did this _happen_?

Nanette's been flirting with Johnny like her life depends on it since the middle of ninth grade, and Angela can't really tell whether it's because Johnny sort of grew into a young Uncle Nicky—and Uncle Nicky _still_ gets the ladies—or if it's something else. She doesn't like that she can't stop her brain wishing for the second choice.

But Angela's never been the brightest one in class, or even her group of friends what with Gina and Gordie around, so sometimes she doesn't know a dumb impulse from a good one—or even know when one's coming. It does kind of work in her favour though every now and then. Like, oh, the day Nanette's goading her after detention, _again_, one afternoon during senior year.

Nanette mouths off, whatever it is isn't ever really important enough to remember, even if Angela often finds herself contemplating every insult while drifting off into fantasy-land. Probably _weirdo_ again or _loser_ or something about money or in French or _something_, and Angela shoves her against a locker, ready to punch her or bite out a sharp reply or be totally normal about this, except she kind-of-maybe-_oh-shit_ leans forward and kisses her instead.

Except—except Nanette doesn't shriek, "Get off me, you creepy lesbo!" She just blinks and then her eyes go as wide as Angela's feel, and. And then they shut, tightly like what she's doing is freaking her out and she can't bare to look but she, God, she _wants_ to. And her mouth presses back, presses against Angela's, and opens. So Angela opens hers too, not wanting to be outdone. Never wanting to be outdone, not by Nanette. Not by _Nanette_, who is a cold bitch with too-perfect hair and too-perfect skin and a too-perfect figure and, it turns out, soft lips and a warm, wet mouth.

Nanette's hand snakes into her hair and tugs, and Angela pushes Nanette harder against the locker because there's a handle behind her and if Angela's gonna be in pain then Nanette will be too. And Angela thinks, sort of vaguely, through this and through a gasp (hers) and a moan (Nanette's), that her imagination? Has _nothing_ on this.

End.


End file.
